


Dearest Friend

by small_blue_owl



Category: David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
Genre: Angst, Forbidden Love, I'm Sorry, Multi, POV First Person, Past Character Death, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Canon, Sad, but so is the book
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:00:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28064328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/small_blue_owl/pseuds/small_blue_owl
Summary: In which some questions are asked and some secrets revealed regarding David's dearest friend.(Set a year after Steerforth's death)
Relationships: David Copperfield/Agnes Wickfield, David Copperfield/James Steerforth
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Dearest Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!   
> It's cold and rainy where I live right now, so I thought I'd write something involving weather with some weather metaphors. I love this book so much and I am a big Dickens fan in general. The sentences in this are long; I'm sorry. I tried to adhere to the style of the book. All you need to know is that David and Steerforth were in love before he died and now Agnes and David are married. This is sad, you have been warned.

The morning was bleak and grey. The wind shook the old trees, ruffled the bushes and made the seed pods of many dead flowers tremble, the sound of which, when in chorus, sounded much like a lilting whisper. The ancient trees, forever bent from the harsh sea winds, leaned and swayed in this prelude of a storm, their branches stretching towards dry land like the helpless hands of one being dragged to sea. I woke slowly, gradually becoming aware of the grey-blue light and the soft sounds of the wind. Upon seeing my beloved Agnes, asleep beside me, a smile drifted to my face. But then my gaze drifted to the window and the smile receded. Far out across the bluffs and through the trees, I could behold the sea, tumultuous and grey, reminding me that Agnes was not the one I would have wished to see beside me.

It was exactly one year since the sea had stolen Steerforth.

I was pensive most of the morning and talked very little to my wife. She did not fail to notice this and inquired about it. I replied that it was nothing, but my face must have betrayed my heart for she did not believe me.

“Why do you grieve?” she asked, her gaze acute. I did not know quite know how to respond.

“You have always been my better angel,” said I, “yet you cannot chide me for cherishing the remembrance of your counterpart.”

She narrowed her gaze and steeled herself, slightly. “Who do you mean?”

“The one you have so often called my bad angel. The one who, a year ago this very day, was taken from me and who’s death I have never come to terms with. I need not say the name. You know full well who I mean.”

Agnes sighed and folded her hands. “I told you many and many a time to leave your foolish fancies for him behind. He was a bad influence on you. It is only because I love you that I ask you to forget him.”

Even though I loved Agnes very dearly, I could not bear to hear her disparage Steerforth in this manner. “Why are you so set to hate him, my love?” I inquired, attempting to keep the bitterness from my voice, I know not how well, “What has he ever done to harm you? Or me for that matter? If you knew him half as well as I did, you would know that he meant me no harm.”

“I have only met him once,” said Agnes, her voice subdued but no less intimidating, “But it was enough to show me what he was, and—” here she paused and her voice gained a sharp edge, “—what he was to you. Perhaps this is all a jealous fancy, but your affections could not escape my gaze.”

I felt a blush rising to my cheeks. The words rung in the air like pebbles striking glass. I rarely heard Agnes use this tone; in fact, the only other occasion that came to mind was when she first told me her opinion of Steerforth. It was unnerving to hear this tone in her voice again; a prelude to a storm all its own. I was so struck by the words I heard from my own wife that I could not suppress my acute discomfort. I knew Agnes could see into my soul, but I was not aware that she could see this far. I had been certain that all my affections for Steerforth were hidden from sight, and invisible to anyone other than ourselves.

“My dear Agnes! Do not pain me so much! I cannot bear to have you speak of my dearest friend like this.”

Agnes lifted her grey eyes to mine, staring at me in such a way as made me certain that I could hide nothing from her, and she could, in fact, see into my heart.

“Dearest friend?” she said softly.

My resolve shattered as my vision blurred. Before I knew what I had done, I had spoken.

“No.”

Agnes sighed. I could hear all of her disappointment, even in that wordless sound. “What was he to you?” she asked steadily.

I could not lie under that pure, honest gaze. “More than you know,” I almost whispered.

“You loved him then?”

“More than you can imagine.” My voice shook, despite all my best efforts.

“And he never knew?”

Her voice cut through the air, a sharp contrast to mine which was shaky and afraid. The silence was oppressive. My mind replayed the last time I had seen him. A first as well as a last. Many and many a time I had thought over that night. I treasured the memory but knew I shouldn’t, and so I remembered it with both joy and shame. I could never forget how he had spoken, how he had smiled, how he had laid his hand upon my cheek. How we had kissed.

Agnes would never forgive me.

“No,” I said softly, “He never knew.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I may write another part to this, if I have time...   
> Kudos and comments make my day :)


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